The Stone
by ArgentNoelle
Summary: Everyone has heard the story of Harry's first year. Everyone has heard, many times, what might have happened if he were put into Slytherin... but what if it was Ron instead?


So, I had read some stories where Harry Potter got sorted into Slytherin, but none quite like this, so I decided to write it. I think it may have gotten a bit rushed at the end, though, I'm not sure. Anyway, there are a lot of quotes here from the first book in it, which I don't own, because J.K. Rowling does.

Also, I wrote this a little while ago, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to update it, but then I decided I should just do it - I don't know, maybe someone will like it.

* * *

The Stone

* * *

Instead of reading the names alphabetically, from A to Z, they were reading it from Z to A. Perhaps there was something wrong with the parchment. Perhaps someone had gotten tired of writing names first-to-last every year. Whatever the reason, they were reading the list backwards.

Because of this, the boy named Ronald Weasley ended up under the Sorting Hat before the boy named Harry Potter.

…

Chapter One: The Two Houses

…

He was quite nervous, the poor boy; but then quite a lot of them are. Looking through his mind, I could see the deepest wishes of his heart. I've done this many times before. He wanted to be different, to be great—different than his family, of which he was only one of many.

I took a quick look through his mind. Not a genius, not strange, or creative enough to be in Ravenclaw—too rash to be in Hufflepuff, though I got the feeling he didn't want to be there anyway—certainly brave enough to be in Gryffindor. And yet… his dreams were of greatness, and that was a very Slytherin thing. Now, I don't put everyone with dreams of greatness into Slytherin—his older brother, Percy, had gotten into Gryffindor—although that had a lot to do with his _wanting_ to be in Gryffindor.

This one wanted to be in Gryffindor too… and yet. And yet…

I presented the choice to him. "What do you think?"

"Er…" he was much too petrified to really think a coherent answer, it was all a jumble of conflicting thoughts—I had the feeling he hadn't been expecting his opinion to be taken into account. Hmm. Well… It _was_ a toss-up, really.

"If you can't decide…I suppose I'll put you in SLYTHERIN!"

…

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes—and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… So where should I put you?"

_With Ron,_ Harry thought. _I want to go with Ron. He's my friend._

"Not Gryffindor, eh?" said the small voice.

_I— _Harry swallowed. He didn't _want_ to go in Slytherin. But Ron was his friend—the only one he'd ever had. _I— Slytherin. Put me in Slytherin._

"Are you sure? Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that—Well, then— better be SLYTHERIN!"

…

Harry went over to the Slytherin table and sat next to Ron, who was looking quite caught between shock, happiness, and misery. He also looked very scared. "What's wrong?" Harry asked in a low voice, glancing across the table at Malfoy, who was seated next to a horrible ghost with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He didn't look too happy about that, Harry was pleased to see.

"My mum's going to kill me…" Ron muttered, looking quite pale. "My whole family's been in Gryffindor…

Harry didn't mention he knew that already, Ron had told him on the train.

"And I got into _Slytherin_…" He looked like he might be sick at any moment. "With Malfoy!" he said, following Harry's gaze.

"And me," Harry reminded him. Ron didn't seem too cheered about that.

"The hat asked me whether I wanted to go into Slytherin or Gryffindor…"

"Really?" Ron asked, looking a little more interested.

"Yeah. I really didn't want to go in Slytherin, but I wanted to be with you, so I asked it to put me here."

Ron looked like he might faint in surprise. "You asked… because of _me_…?"

"You're my friend," Harry said. "—Anyway, I'm sure you're family will be fine. If they loved you before, being in Slytherin isn't going to change that."

Yeah…" Ron muttered. "I guess so… still, mum'll be so mad…and Fred won't be too happy either…and Percy…" the more names he listed off the paler he got.

"Well…" Harry said awkwardly. "I mean, there's nothing you can do about it now, is there? So…why don't you enjoy the feast?"

…

Harry piled a bit of everything but the peppermints onto his plate but Ron only picked at his food miserably. Harry listened idly to the conversations around him. There wasn't much of it—Malfoy was going on and on, trying to ignore the Bloody Baron; and some of the girls talked to each other as well—Crabbe and Goyle were silent. Blaise Zabini only joined in occasionally, sometimes looking quietly amused, and Theodore Nott ignored everyone around him.

The older Slytherins mainly talked among themselves, though some of them cast curious glances at Harry.

Harry turned to Ron, but, after a few attempts at conversation, gave up, and began staring lazily at the head table, letting the sounds of the Great Hall wash over him.

He didn't know how much later it was when the hook-nosed teacher stared past Quirrel; and a sharp, hot pain shot across his scar.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.

Ron looked up. "What is it?" he asked.

"N-nothing."

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake was the feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look—a feeling that he didn't like Harry at all. "Hey, Ron, do you know who that is?" he asked. "The teacher talking to Professor Quirrel?"

Ron looked over at the head table. "Er…Snape, probably." He shrugged. "Head of Slytherin house. They say he always favors them—we'll probably find out soon enough." He sighed, and began picking at his food again, his gaze slipping, wistfully, to the Gryffindor Table. Percy was talking to that annoying girl, Hermione Granger. Everyone at the Gryffindor table seemed to be having a very good time. He sighed again and turned back to his food.

After the desserts had disappeared, Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem," he said. "Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you." He went on to talk about the forest (which was forbidden); gave a reminder that magic should not be used in the corridors between classes; mentioned Quidditch trials, which would be held in the second week of term; and said that the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side was out of bounds for everyone who did not wish to die a very painful death.

Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.

"He's not serious?" he muttered to Ron. Ron shrugged.

"And now," Dumbledore said, "Before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!"

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Slytherin first years followed a Prefect who's name Harry didn't know through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, through the entrance to the dungeons, and down the stone steps into the darkness. Harry's feet were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. He was too sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that more than once they were led through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They walked through the labyrinthine passages, sometimes climbing down more staircases, until they came to a stretch of bare, damp stone wall.

The Prefect spoke the password, and a stone door concealed in the wall slid open. They all scrambled through it and found themselves in the Slytherin common room, a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantelpiece ahead of them, and standing around it were several tall, high-backed chairs.

The Prefect directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the end of a short passage, with doors on each side, they found their beds at last: seven four-posters hung with deep green, velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought down. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pajamas and fell into bed.

"Great food, isn't it?" Ron muttered to Harry through the hangings, though Harry privately thought he hadn't tasted any of it. "Get _off_, Scabbers! He's chewing my sheets."

Harry was going to ask Ron if he'd had any of the treacle tart, but he fell asleep almost at once.

Perhaps Harry had eaten a bit too much, because he had a very strange dream. He was wearing Professor Quirrel's turban, which kept talking to him, telling him he must transfer to Gryffindor at once, because it was his destiny. Harry told the turban that was impossible, he'd already been Sorted, but it didn't listen; it got heavier and heavier; Harry tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully—and there was Malfoy, laughing at him as he struggled with it—then Malfoy turned into the hook-nosed teacher, Snape, who's laugh became high and cold—there was a burst of green light and Harry woke, sweating and shaking.

He rolled over and fell asleep again, and when he woke next day, he didn't remember the dream at all.

…

Chapter Two: The Flying Lesson

…

Friday was an important day for Harry and Ron. They finally managed to find their way up to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

When the mail came, Hedwig gave Harry a letter, sent by Hagrid, asking if he wanted to come to his house and have tea around three. Harry sent the note back, accepting the invitation.

...

For some reason Draco Malfoy _hated_ Ron, and Harry thought he was also bitter that Harry had chosen Ron for a friend over him. He remembered what he'd said in the train: _You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there._

It had always been very clear that Ron was 'the wrong sort', and even their being in the same house didn't help matters. In fact, it seemed to make it worse, if that were possible.

He didn't pick on Harry though, but only glared at him darkly and ignored him. That was perfectly fine with Harry.

…

There was a notice pinned up the next week in the Slytherin common room that made almost everyone groan: flying lessons would start on Thursday, and Slytherins and Gryffindors would be learning together.

"Typical," said Harry darkly. "Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Malfoy _and_ the Gryffindors."

"You don't know you'll make a fool of yourself," Ron said reasonably. "Anyway, I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that's all talk."

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the House Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He wasn't the only one, though: the way Blaise Zabini told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Ron would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on Charlie's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly.

At three-thirty that afternoon, Harry, Ron, and the other Slytherins hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson.

The Gryffindors came a few minutes later, and right after that, their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Not long into their lesson, though, Neville's broomstick flew up out of control; and he crashed to the ground, breaking his wrist. Madam Hooch left them with a stern warning not to try anything while she was gone.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

Most of the Slytherins joined in. Ron just glared belligerently at Malfoy; and Harry stayed silent, uncomfortably reminded, once again, of Dudley.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped Parvati Patil, one of the Gryffindor girls.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom!" Pansy Parkinson retorted. "Never thought _you'd_ like fat little crybabies, Parvati."

"Look!" said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him."

The Rmembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"Give it here, Malfoy," said Harry quietly. Everyone stopped talking and watched.

Malfoy smirked. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find—how about—up a tree?"

"Give it _here_!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leaped onto his broomstick and taken off. He hadn't been lying, he _could_ fly well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!"

Harry grabbed his broom and took off.

They faced each other. No one on the ground could hear what was being said, but suddenly Malfoy shouted, "Catch it if you can, then!" Something small and round flew from his hand. Harry turned, and dived.

A foot from the ground, his fist closed around the Remembrall. He pulled his broom straight, and toppled gently to the ground.

"HARRY POTTER!"

He got to his feet.

Professor McGonagall was running toward him. "_Never_—in all my time at Hogwarts—How _dare_ you—might have broken your neck—"

Only Ron and the Gryffindor girl who had stood up to Malfoy were brave enough to try to interrupt, but they were furiously cut off.

"Potter, follow me, now."

She led him up the front steps and into the castle.

…

"…And then Dumbledore came, and he talked with Flint and Snape, and I got to be Seeker. Snape didn't look too happy about that." Harry grinned.

"_Seeker?_" Ron asked. It was dinnertime; Ron had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it. "But first years _never_—you must be the youngest House player in about—"

"—a century," said Harry. "Flint told me."

Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry.

"I start training next week," Harry said.

Fred and George Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and hurried over.

"Hey, Harry," said Fred. "Is it true? You're the new Slytherin seeker?"

"Yes," Harry said.

"Well done," said George in a low voice.

"We'll _never_ win the Quidditch Cup at this rate," Fred moaned. "We haven't won since Charlie left."

They had just vanished, saying something about a new secret passageway out of the school Lee Jordan had found, (which Fred bet was the one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy they had found in their first week) when Malfoy turned up, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Having a last meal, Potter?" Malfoy asked. "When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?"

"I'm not," Harry said coolly. "Oh, hadn't you heard? Even the Gryffindors know it, I'd think _you _would've."

Malfoy's face paled. "Then it's true?" he demanded. "You're Seeker?"

"Yes," Harry said. "And by the way, thanks," he added. "If it hadn't been for you I wouldn't have got it."

Malfoy looked furious. "What?"

Harry looked at Crabbe and Goyle. He hesitated. "Send them away, Malfoy." He said, "and sit down." He gestured to an empty seat next to him and Ron.

Both Ron and Malfoy were staring at him in equal bemusement.

"Crabbe, Goyle," Malfoy said finally, "Go on, you can eat. I'll be there."

They didn't need to be told a second time, vanishing quickly.

Malfoy sat down. "So, Potter," he said. "What is it you wanted to talk about?"

…

Chapter Three: Trouble

…

Hermione and Neville were standing in front of the empty portrait hole. "Now what am I going to do?" She asked shrilly. Neville said nothing. After all, it had been his fault she was stuck here in the first place. She'd heard, she told him, that no one knew where he was, "But they didn't seem to miss you at all! Anyway, I thought you might be in trouble, so I came to find you."

"We—we could ask a teacher," Neville said hesitantly.

"Yes," Hermione said slowly. "I suppose." She was sitting down against the wall, her arms wrapped against her legs. "But then we might get in trouble."

"We'd get in more trouble if we were found out here," Neville pointed out.

Hermione turned to the portrait again, but it was still empty. "But, it's not like the Fat Lady is going to be gone all night, right?" she asked reasonably. "She's sure to be back soon. If we just wait a few more minutes…"

They waited a few more minutes. And a few more. Hermione must have dozed off when she felt someone touch her. She jumped up in fright.

Neville jumped back. "I'm so sorry! It's just—the Bloody Baron just came past again —it was _awful_."

It seemed very late. Hermione looked around, and stared, dismayed, at the still-empty portrait hole.

"Oh, _no_," she moaned. "We _have_ to go to a teacher now, and then they'll ask us why we took so long to come, and then we'll get in so much trouble! We'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells!"

"Er…" Neville said. "Sorry."

Finally Hermione calmed down. "Right. Neville, do you know where the teachers sleep?"

"I think they have rooms attached to their offices," Neville said.

"Yes, that's right," Hermione muttered, "We should go to Professor McGonagall, since she's our Head of House. –This way," she said. Neville hurried to catch up.

They had been walking for quite a long time, it seemed; in the empty, eerily silent, and dark castle; when they heard Filch. Neville and Hermione shared a panicked look. If Filch caught them, he wouldn't listen to any excuses.

They began to sneak away. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Neville suddenly let out a frightened squeak and broke into a run, ignoring Hermione's hissed cry, _"Neville, no!"_ as she ran after him; he tripped, grabbed her around the waist, and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armor.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

They glanced at each other for a moment, and then, without having to say anything, got up and broke into a run again—it was their only hope now.

They didn't know where they were going. When they finally stopped, they decided to go straight back to Gryffindor Tower, in the hopes that the Fat Lady would finally be back in her portrait. Perhaps that way they could finish their adventure with no one the wiser, and they wouldn't get in trouble for their bad luck. Their situation was looking guiltier and guiltier the longer they wandered around.

It wasn't going to be that simple. They hadn't gone more than a dozen paces before Peeves found them.

He gave a squeal of delight.

"Peeves—don't say anything, _please_—" Hermione said desperately. "You'll get us thrown out!"

Peeves cackled. "Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away."

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

Neville looked at Hermione. She looked more desperate and miserable than he had ever seen her. He knew that she would never be able to live with herself if they were caught and expelled. And it was all his fault in the first place. _He _had been the one who couldn't remember the password, so she had to come looking for him; _he_ was the one who had suggested coming to a teacher when she had said to just wait; _he_ was the one who had given them away to Filch by crashing into a suit of armor.

He looked at Peeves. "G-get out of the way," he said, his voice trembling but firm, and he took a hesitant swipe at the poltergeist.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him; ducking under Peeves, they ran for their lives, right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door—and it was locked.

"Oh, Hermione, I'm so sorry!" Neville wailed.

"Neville," Hermione hissed, looking around desperately. "Neville, _do you have your wand?_"

"Um—my wand? Yes, I do—I—"

"Give it here!" He held it out and she grabbed it out of his hand. _"Alohomora!"_ she said, tapping on the lock.

They ran through and shut the door behind them. Hermione listened to Filch and Peeves talking in the corridor outside. "Er, Hermione?" Neville asked.

"Shh, I'm listening—" Hermione hissed.

"No, Hermione, you have to look at this!" His voice was high and panicked.

"Just a moment!" She said. Finally, after a minute, she sighed and turned around. "They're gone," she said.

And she saw what Neville had been trying to tell her.

They were in the middle of the third-floor corridor. And a gigantic, three-headed dog was staring at them, standing guard over a trapdoor.

…

Chapter Four: Hermione Granger

…

"It's no wonder no one can stand her," Ron said as they passed Hermione in the crowded corridor, "she's a nightmare, honestly."

"I think she heard you," Harry said, staring after Hermione, who had pushed her way past him. He was startled to see she was in tears. _It couldn't have been about what Ron said_, he reasoned. _She doesn't even know us_.

But still, he had the strange feeling it was. Oh, it might not have been anything personal, but when he glimpsed her this past week, she had looked as if something were weighing on her—Harry had noticed because her chatter, which usually floated over from the Gryffindor table, had been conspicuously absent, and he'd wondered why. Ron's words might have been the last straw.

"So?" Ron answered, but he looked a bit uncomfortable.

Later that day, in the corridors again, Neville accosted them, looking worried. "Have you seen Hermione Granger anywhere?" He asked Harry and Ron.

"Um, why should we know?" Ron asked.

"I don't know," Neville said. "Only I've asked all the boys in Gryffindor and nobody's seen her this afternoon. Hermione _never_ skips classes," he explained. He didn't say, secretly, that he was worried about her. She hadn't spoken to him at all since the incident with the portrait hole. What if this was his fault too, somehow?

"Maybe you should ask some of the girls," Harry suggested.

"Oh," Neville said, blushing, "Yes, of course."

He ran off.

Harry and Ron were on their way to the feast when they saw Neville.

"You again!" Ron said.

He spoke to Harry. "You were right about how to find Hermione, thanks."

"Where was she?" Harry asked curiously.

Neville faltered.

"Is she OK?" Harry asked, watching Neville, who had a very strange expression on his face.

"She was in the girls bathroom," he muttered, "crying. Parvati said she wanted to be left alone. Not that I was going to go in—" he added hastily.

"Go in where?" A drawling voice interrupted from behind them, and Neville jumped. He took one look at the three Slytherins coming up to them and, with a hastily muttered, "Bye," fled.

Harry sighed loudly and looked at Draco. "You did that on purpose," he said.

"I didn't do anything," Draco said innocently.

"Yeah, right," Ron muttered under his breath.

They had hardly started eating when Professor Quirrel ran into the hall, gasped out a warning about a troll in the dungeons, and sank to the floor in a dead faint.

Everyone was being led back to their dormitories when Harry realized something.

"I've just thought—" He said, grabbing Ron's arm, and glancing at Draco. "Hermione."

"What about her?" Ron asked.

"The mudblood? She isn't even in out house!" Draco complained. Harry glared at him, and so did Ron.

"What?" he said. "She isn't!"

"She doesn't know about the troll," Harry said.

Ron bit his lip. "Oh, all right," he snapped, "but Percy'd better not see us."

"Coming?" Harry asked.

"Are you out of your mind?" Draco hissed.

"You don't have to," Harry answered, and he and Ron ducked down and joined the Hufflepuffs going the other way. A moment later, Draco joined them. "Honestly," he complained, "you're as bad as the Gryffindors!" Harry rolled his eyes, and Ron hid a smile.

They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them.

"Percy!" hissed Ron, pulling Harry behind a large stone griffin. Draco ducked in too, just in time, and glared at Ron.

Peering around it, however, they saw not Percy but Snape.

"What's he doing?" Harry whispered. "Why isn't he down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?"

"Search me." Ron answered.

And then they saw the troll.

"The key's in the lock," Harry muttered. "We could lock it in."

"Good idea," said Ron nervously.

Draco was looking at it skeptically, but didn't stop them closing and locking the door. They began to run away when they when they heard the scream.

"Oh, no," Ron said.

"It's the girl's bathroom!" Harry answered.

"_Hermione!"_ they said together, and began to run back down the hall.

Draco hesitated before running after them. "You idiots!" he hissed. "It's a _troll_! In _case_ you didn't _notice_?"

But they paid him no mind. Harry pulled open the door and they ran inside.

Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the wall as it went.

They had to do _something_…

They had only just knocked out the troll when they heard a sudden slamming and loud footsteps. A moment later, in came Professor McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrel.

Quirrel took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron, Harry, and Draco. Her lips were white.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" she asked, with cold fury in her voice.

Harry looked at Ron, who was still standing with his wand in the air.

"You're lucky you weren't killed," Snape said darkly, and then said, "Why aren't you in your dormitory?" It was more of an accusation than a question.

Harry looked at the floor. He wished Ron would put his wand down. Draco gulped and looked down as well.

Then a small voice came out of the shadows. "Please, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape—they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last.

"I went looking for the troll because I—I thought I could deal with it on my own—you know, because I've read all about them."

Ron dropped his wand, and Draco stared at her with his mouth open. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a teacher? Had the world ended?

"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead by now. Harry stuck his wand up it's nose, Draco distracted it, and Ron knocked it out with it's own club—they didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Harry, Ron, and Draco tried to look as though this story wasn't new to them.

"Well—in that case—" said Professor McGonagall, staring at them, "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"

Hermione hung her head. Harry was speechless. Hermione was the last person to do anything against the rules, everyone knew that; and here she was, pretending she had, to get them out of trouble. It was as if Snape had started handing out sweets.

"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this," said Professor McGonagall. "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor Tower. Students are finishing the feast in their Houses."

Hermione left.

Professor McGonagall turned to Harry, Ron, and Draco.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll."

"Yes," Snape said. "Potter, five points from Slytherin for your rashness."

Harry couldn't believe it.

"Malfoy, Weasley, five points each to Slytherin for making sure no one got killed."

Professor McGonagall frowned, but didn't say anything.

"Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this," he continued. "You may go."

…

Chapter Five: Secrets and Mysteries

…

Harry and Ron were in the library telling Hermione about the package from Gringotts hidden in the third-floor corridor.

"The third-floor corridor?" Hermione asked, looking pale.

"Yeah—What is it?" Harry asked.

"Nothing," she tried to say, but they pestered her until she told them, reluctantly. "There's a dog in there."

"A _dog_?" Ron asked incredulously. "That's _all_?"

"That's _not_ all," she said. "It's quite gigantic and it has three heads, and it was standing on top of a trapdoor!" She seemed to realize she had said too much and stopped abruptly.

"Hermione," Ron asked slowly, "When were you in the third-floor corridor? And how in the _world_ did you get _in_?"

Hermione sighed. "It's none of your business."

Ron was staring at her admiringly. "I can't believe it," he said. "You're brilliant! You had everyone fooled, thinking you were such a goody-goody, and all the time you managed to break into the third-floor corridor without _anyone noticing_! Even _Fred and George_ couldn't do that."

"Really?" Hermione said, looking interested. "I would've thought they'd know how—I mean, all I had to do was use Alohomora."

"They tried _everything_," Ron said. "If it was that simple they would've gotten in."

"Then someone must have taken down the defenses that night," Harry said. But who? And why?

…

It was November. Harry, Ron, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing in the courtyard when Snape crossed it. He seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off.

He limped over, and as usual, focused on Harry. "What's that you've got there, Potter?" he asked.

Harry showed him. It was _Quidditch Through the Ages_, a book Hermione had lent him one day saying, "I thought it might interest you."

"Library books are not to be taken out of the school," Snape said. "Give it to me."

"He just made that rule up," Harry muttered angrily as he limped away.

…

Harry wanted _Quidditch Through the Ages_ back, and he had an idea that Snape wouldn't refuse if there were other people listening. He pushed the door to the staffroom ajar when no one answered his knock and peered inside—a horrible scene met his eyes.

There was no question _now_ why Snape was limping.

Filch was handing Snape bandages. "Blasted thing," Sanpe was saying. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"

Harry tried to shut the door quietly, but—

"POTTER!" Snape's face was twisted in fury as he dropped his robes quickly to hide his leg. Harry gulped.

…

"Did you get it?" Ron asked as Harry joined him, Draco, and Hermione in the library. Ron was ignoring Draco and Draco was ignoring Hermione, and Hermione was trying to do her homework in between them. 'What's the matter?"

In a low whisper, Harry told them what he'd seen.

"You know what this means?" he finished breathlessly. "He tried to get past the three-headed dog at Halloween! That's where he was going when we saw him—he's after whatever it's guarding! And I'd bet my broomstick _he_ let that troll in, to make a diversion!"

"No—he wouldn't," Hermione said. "He wouldn't try to steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

"Honestly, Hermione, you think all the teachers are saints or something," snapped Ron. "I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put anything past him. —But what's he after?" he asked Harry. "What's the dog guarding?"

"Something valuable," Draco put in. "And small."

"Well, we already _know_ that," Ron retorted.

…

They were at the Quidditch match, and something was wrong with Harry's broomstick.

"Can't nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic—no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand," Hagrid said, his voice shaking.

At these words, Hermione seized Hagrid's binoculars, but instead of looking up at Harry, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" moaned Neville, gray-faced.

"I knew it," Hermione gasped. "Snape—look."

Neville took the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on Harry and was muttering under his breath.

"He's doing something—jinxing the broom," said Hermione.

"What should we do?"

"Leave it to me."

Before Neville could say another word, Hermione had disappeared.

…

Ron grabbed Draco's binoculars.

Harry's broom was vibrating so hard, it was almost impossible for him to hang on much longer. The whole crowd was on its feet, watching, terrified, as the Weasleys flew up to try and pull Harry safely onto one of their brooms, but it was no good—every time they got near him, the broom would jump higher still. They dropped lower and circled beneath him, obviously hoping to catch him if he fell. Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

…

Draco had been trying to grab back his binoculars when he noticed Hermione running through the stands. He stopped what he was doing and watched. She was flying through, desperately—she knocked over Quirrel but didn't give him a second glance—she crouched down behind Professor Snape and _set his robes on fire_.

It took him perhaps thirty seconds to realize what she had done. He gave a sudden yelp, and, scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket, she retreated—Snape would never know what had happened.

Up in the air, Harry was suddenly able to clamber back on to his broom.

"Draco, look!" Ron said, and he turned to see what had happened.

Harry was speeding toward the ground when the crowd saw him clap his hand to his mouth as though he was about to be sick—he hit the field on all fours—coughed—and something gold fell into his hand.

"I've got the Snitch!" he shouted, waving it above his head, and the game ended in complete confusion.

"He didn't _catch_ it, he nearly _swallowed_ it," Wood was still complaining twenty minutes later, but it made no difference—Harry hadn't broken any rules. Slytherin won by one hundred and seventy points to sixty.

…

Harry was being made a cup of strong tea back in Hagrid's hut, with Ron, Draco, and Hermione.

"It was Snape," Hermione was explaining, "Neville and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, he wouldn't take his eye off you." She looked a little frightened at the thought of what might have happened had she not gotten to him in time.

"Rubbish," said Hagrid. "Why would Snape do somethin' like that?"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco looked at each other. Harry decided on the truth.

"I found out something about him," he told Hagrid. "He tried to get past the three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him." He turned to Hermione. "We think he's trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

Hagrid dropped the teapot.

"How do you know about Fluffy?" he asked.

"_Fluffy?"_ they all asked; Hermione the loudest.

"Yeah—he's mine—bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year—I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—"

"Yes?" said Harry eagerly.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."

"But Snape's trying to _steal_ it."

"Rubbish," said Hagrid again. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."

"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" asked Draco.

"I know a jinx when I see them, Hagrid, I've read all about them!" Hermione added. "You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" said Hagrid hotly. "I don' know why Harry's broom acted like that, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all four of yeh—yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicholas Flamel—"

"Aha!" said Harry, "so there's someone called Nicholas Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid looked furious with himself.

…

On Christmas day, Harry was given his father's invisibility cloak.

…

They had just finished Quidditch practice. The rest of the team hung back to talk to one another as usual at the end of practice, but Harry headed straight to the Gryffindor common room, where he found Ron and Hermione playing chess. Chess was the only thing Hermione ever lost at, something Harry and Ron thought was very good for her.

"Don't talk to me for a moment," said Ron when Harry sat down next to him, "I need to concen—" He caught sight of Harry's face. "What's the matter with you? You look terrible."

Speaking quietly so that no one else would hear, Harry told the other two about Snape's sudden, sinister desire to be a Quidditch referee.

"Don't play," said Hermione at once.

"Say you're ill," said Ron.

"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggested.

"_Really_ break your leg," said Ron.

"I can't," said Harry. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Slytherin can't play at all."

At that moment Neville toppled into the common room. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what they recognized as a Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor Tower.

Everyone fell over laughing except Hermione, and Harry, who kicked Ron and glared at him, then nodded at the room as if to say, they might not appreciate you laughing at him—he's not in _your_ House. Ron stopped laughing and looked around warily, but nobody had noticed.

Hermione leaped up and performed the countercurse. Neville's legs sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling.

"What happened?" Hermione asked him, leading him over to sit with Harry and Ron.

Neville glanced at Harry for a moment but didn't give Ron another look; ever since he'd discovered Hermione's weakness he'd been hanging out in the Gryffindor Common Room as often as she would let him, playing chess.

"Malfoy," said Neville shakily. "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice on."

Hermione looked like she was ready to give Draco Malfoy a piece of her mind the next time she saw him. "Go to Professor McGonagall!" she said. "Report him!"

Neville shook his head. "I don't want more trouble," he mumbled.

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville," Ron said. "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier."

There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," Neville choked out.

Harry felt in his pocket and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the very last one from the box Hermione had given him for Christmas. He gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.

Harry hesitated. He wanted to say something to make Neville feel better, but he didn't want to insult Draco. But then he decided. If Draco was going to be a bully like Dudley, he didn't deserve someone standing up for him.

"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," he said at last. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And it's never wrong."

Neville's mouth twitched in a weak smile as he unwrapped the frog.

"I thought he was your friend?" he asked.

"He is," Harry said. "But that doesn't mean he can act cruel and I won't say anything."

"Oh…" Neville said. "Thanks, Harry… I think I'll go to bed… D'you want the card, you collect them, don't you?"

As Neville walked away, Harry looked at the Famous Wizard card.

"Dumbledore again," he said, "He was the first one I ever—"

He gasped. He stared at the back of the card. Then he looked up at Ron and Hermione.

He had found Nicholas Flamel.

…

Christmas break didn't seem to have done Malfoy any good. When he'd left, Harry had _thought_ he'd finally stopped bullying people, and Harry thought he'd finally become a little nicer. He hadn't called Hermione an even vaguely insulting name since the day she'd saved Harry's life.

But when he came back, it was as though he was a completely different person—it was as though the last months hadn't even happened. He still kept to his word about being nice to Ron, if 'nice' meant ignoring someone all the time and not glaring at him, but in all other respects, he could have been the same boy Harry had met on the train. Even Harry started avoiding him because of how insufferable he was being, and soon it was no longer Harry and Ron who he was most likely to be seen with, but Crabbe and Goyle. "I bet he boasts about his family to them," Ron said bitterly, "Not that they'd even have the wits to understand what he was saying. But maybe that's why he _likes_ them so much."

…

They were at the Quidditch match; Ron, Hermione, and Neville were sitting together, and Draco Malfoy was being obnoxious as usual. This time, his target was Neville again.

"You should be on the team, Longbottom," he continued, "you've got no brains."

"I'm worth twelve of you, Malfoy," Neville stammered, turning back in his seat to face him.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle howled with laughter, but Ron, still not daring to take his eyes off the game, said, "You tell him, Neville."

"Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something."

Ron's nerves were already stretched to the breaking point with anxiety about Harry.

"I'm warning you, Malfoy—one more word—"

"Ron!" said Hermione suddenly, "Harry,"

"What? Where?"

Harry had suddenly gone into a spectacular dive, which drew gasps and cheers from the crowd. Hermione stood up, her crossed fingers in her mouth, as Harry streaked toward the ground like a bullet.

Draco Malfoy was feeling miserable. Perhaps that had something to do with what he said next. Maybe it happened because of his jealousy about Harry getting on the team and he not. Maybe it was because he had already gone so far that he felt there was nothing left to lose, alienating all his friends; but most likely it was all of that, and more—whatever the reason, he said it.

"You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground!" As soon as he said it, he regretted it, but there was no taking it back—

Ron snapped. Before Draco knew what was happening, Ron was on top of him, wrestling him to the ground. Neville hesitated, then clambered over the back of his seat to help.

"Come on, Harry!" Hermione screamed, leaping onto her seat to watch as Harry sped straight at Snape—she didn't even notice Draco and Ron rolling around under her seat, or the scuffles and yelps coming from the whirl of fists that was Neville, Crabbe, and Goyle.

Up in the air, Snape turned on his broomstick to see something emerald shoot past him, missing him by inches—the next second, Harry had pulled out of the dive, his arm raised in triumph, the Snitch clasped in his hand.

The stands erupted; it had to be a record, no one could ever remember the Snitch being caught so quickly.

Harry jumped off his broom, a foot from the ground. He couldn't believe it. He'd done it—the game was over; it had barely lasted five minutes.

Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Dumbledore's smiling face.

"Well done," said Dumbledore quietly, so that only Harry could hear. "Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror…been keeping busy…excellent…"

…

Harry was happy. He'd really done something to be proud of—no one could say he was just a famous name anymore.

Harry had reached the shed. He leaned against the wooden door and looked up at Hogwarts, with it's windows glowing red in the setting sun. He'd done it, he'd shown Snape…

And speaking of Snape…

He was coming out of the castle now, sneaking into the forest when everyone else was at dinner. Harry jumped onto his Nimbus Two Thousand and followed.

And then he heard a strange and suspicious conversation between Snape and Quirrel…

"So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrel stands up to Snape?" asked Hermione in alarm.

"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," said Ron.

…

Hagrid had gotten a dragon's egg.

"Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?" Ron asked.

We've got lessons, we'll get into trouble, and that's nothing to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing—" Hermione said.

"Shut up!" Harry whispered. Malfoy was only a few feet away and had stopped dead to listen. How much had he heard? Harry didn't like the look on his face at all.

…

At eleven o'clock, Harry, Hermione, and Neville went down to the entrance hall. Filch was already there—and so was Malfoy. Harry had forgotten that Malfoy had gotten detention, too.

They went into the forest, and finally found the unicorn. It was dead.

…

The morning after the detention in the forest, Malfoy went to Harry in the library. Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere to be seen, and Malfoy himself looked very small.

He stood in front of Harry, who ignored him, studying.

Finally he cleared his throat. "Um…Harry…"

Harry looked up from his book. "Yes, Malfoy?" he asked, coolly.

Malfoy flinched, but persevered. "I—the thing—in the forest. I was thinking about it, and I think it's—"

"Voldemort," Harry said, just as Malfoy said, "the Dark Lord."

They stared at each other for a moment. Finally, Malfoy fidgeted. "You knew?"

"The centaurs told me," Harry said.

"Oh." Malfoy answered. He looked at the ground. Finally he looked back up, desperately. "Harry, I'm sorry."

"For what?" Harry asked.

"For everything. I've been acting despicably, I know it, but—" he hesitated but then a strange sort of defiance came over his face. "Father—he said—he learned who I'd been spending time with—Mudbloods, blood traitors, and Gryffindors—and he told me—he told me never to fraternize with people like that again." His voice had taken on an eerie, flat quality, and his eyes focused just to the right of Harry's head. He focused on Harry again. "But I won't do it," he said. "I don't want to do it anymore. I don't want to do everything he tells me to do. Anyway, you're in danger—the Dark Lord is trying to come back. And," he was speaking faster now, "I understand if you want nothing more to do with me, and that's fine, but I won't treat you badly anymore—you or anyone. I don't want to be told what to do anymore; I want to choose for myself."

He hesitated, turned, and left before Harry could think of anything to say.

…

They finally finished their exams; Harry's scar was hurting and he kept having his old nightmare, but now it was worse, because it had a figure dripping blood in it. Harry thought the prickling of his scar was a warning: danger was coming.

…

Harry, Ron, and Hermione met in the library. Hermione looked very worried.

"What is it?"

"Neville," she answered miserably. "He found me as I was about to sneak out the Portrait Hole. I had to put the full Body-Bind on him."

Nobody could think of anything to say about that.

"I've got the cloak," Harry said at last, pulling it out. They were about to get under it when they heard a noise.

"What was that?" Hermione whispered.

"No idea," Ron said, uneasily. They moved closer together, and peered through the darkened shelves.

Someone stepped out of the shadows. It was Draco Malfoy. "I want to help," he said.

…

The rest of the story passed as you have heard. They got past the tasks, and Harry Potter faced Voldemort for the second time in his life. Neville won points for Gryffindor, which they all thought he privately deserved. And finally, the year ended, and the train pulled into the station.

Draco left through the gateway early, to join his family; though Harry privately thought he didn't look too happy about that. Harry thanked Mrs. Weasley for her Christmas presents, and hung back for a last word with Ron and Hermione.

"See you over the summer, then."

"Hope you have—er—a good holiday," said Hermione, looking uncertainly after Uncle Vernon, shocked that anyone could be so unpleasant.

And finally, at last, there was nothing else to tell.

THE END

.

.

.


End file.
